Conversations Between a Quiet Woman and Her Loud Brain

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MY BRAIN: You know, if Elsa’s parents weren’t such dickweeds, Frozen would have been a much shorter movie.

ME: Mmm-hmm.

MY BRAIN: Here’s an idea: how about leaving her with the trolls so she can learn to control her powers, instead of having the head troll scare the crap out of her and then hand her back to Mr. and Mrs. La-La-La-I-Can’t-Hear-You of 1841.

ME: You’re right.

MY BRAIN: But then there would have been no movie.

ME: It’s sad, isn’t it. (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: So! Are we in a movie? Is that why bad things happen? Are we entertainment?

ME: ?

MY BRAIN: (I take that back. This is probably a TV show. Looking at you, and this desk, I can’t imagine there’s any budget to speak of.)

ME: What have I told you about getting metaphysical when I’m doing spreadsheets?

MY BRAIN: No, this is important. Because if this is a TV show, then we are stock characters, and you’re the wacky neighbor.

ME: I am not the wacky neighbor. I wave very politely when I see our neighbors. I don’t do the can-can or anything.

MY BRAIN: No, you’re the wacky neighbor of everybody’s life. You amble around being foolish and getting laughs, and nothing really great
happens because it would disrupt your humor patina –

ME: (“Humor patina?”)

MY BRAIN: And you’re never going to be a star, or get fan mail.

ME: There is such a thing as overextending a metaphor.

MY BRAIN: And you’ll never get a spinoff, or if you do it’ll be cancelled. All the stock characters you could have been and you had to choose
wacky neighbor.

ME: Oh, it could be worse.

MY BRAIN: It could not possibly be worse.

ME: Yes it could. I could be the wacky neighbor who goes and checks herself in somewhere because her brain won’t put a sock in it when she’s trying to get her work done.

MY BRAIN: They’re ridiculous. So how did you get sorted, now that they don’t use the Hat anymore?

ME: … as much as I’m going to regret getting involved in this conversation, I’m going to point out that they did not get rid of the Sorting Hat.

MY BRAIN: Obviously you did not read book 8.

ME: Book 8.

MY BRAIN: HARRY POTTER AND THE GENTRIFIED HOGWARTS.

ME: For the love of –

MY BRAIN: Who wants to put on that nasty hat? I’m surprised one of the books wasn’t called HARRY POTTER AND THE UNSTOPPABLE LICE EPIDEMIC. Anyway, I like that you have options now. The Sorting Spat, that’s probably my favorite.

ME: And the regrets keep building…

MY BRAIN: Choose a portrait and pick a fight with it until gets so irritated it sorts you into a house just to get rid of you. If you’re more into familiars, there’s The Sorting Rat, where Scabbers’ zombified corpse runs across a wooden board with the school colors on it. Where it drops its undead rat shit, that’s your house.

ME: (Undead rat shit?)

MY BRAIN: That one’s kind of a threefer because it’s also the Sorting Scat and the Sorting Splat.

ME: You really terrify me sometimes.

MY BRAIN: Wait, you know what? I think my favorite one is The Sorting Twat. You are approached by a random presidential candidate —

ME: NOW YOU ARE JUST MAKING SHIT UP AND I DID NOT GET SORTED INTO HOGWARTS!

MY BRAIN: …

ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: Tell you what. I’ll be in Ravenclaw and you can be in Hufflepuff. Huffleclaw. Ravenpuff.

ME: That would make my colors sky blue and yellow. I’ll look like a Teletubby on acid.

MY BRAIN: Feral Campbell’s Soup children bring him crusts of Wonder Bread and the occasional Spam sandwich. Audio tracks from old 1950s short films on how to behave properly
float eerily through the air.

ME: Do you realize how much work I have to do?

MY BRAIN: He learns to read by finding old copies of Reader’s Digest. Calculating the nutritional values found on the back of mayonnaise jars teaches him math.

MY BRAIN: Oh, come on. Enraged over the slavery of house elves, and yet routinely engages in animal abuse during Transfiguration class.. Do not tell me that turning owls into opera glasses doesn’t involve a certain amount of pain and suffering.

ME: Um…

MY BRAIN: If JK Rowling wants her to be an activist, she should at least be a CONSISTENT activist.

ME: You know, for once in your life you might have a point.

MY BRAIN: So in my version she starts PETA –

ME: There’s already a group called –

MY BRAIN: – People for the Ethical Transfiguration of Animals –

ME: Ah. Carry on.

MY BRAIN: And she engages in a constant vandalism campaign against Professor McGonnagall which culminates in fifth year when Hermione breaks
into her office and sets all the mice free. Unfortunately she can’t keep them in her room in the Gryffindor tower so they end up getting eaten by Mrs. Norris.

ME: That kind of sucks.

MY BRAIN: I said I was fixing it, I didn’t say I was making it NICE. Anyway, at the end of the seventh book, when Voldemort rules the world…

ME: Wait a minute. That’s not how it ends.

MY BRAIN: That’s the way it ends when Hermione won’t let Neville kill a snake.

MY BRAIN: I feel just like I am lost metaphysically. I don’t know where to turn.

ME: What happened?

MY BRAIN: I believed in Crystal Light… and it DIDN’T BELIEVE IN ME!

ME: Um…

MY BRAIN: It always seemed like a very sensible, self-reliant ontology, you know?

ME: Why the HELL do I let you watch television?

MY BRAIN: I believe in myself, therefore I believe in Crystal Light. It was never a stated quid pro quo,
but why not? And I did my part.

ME: I’m scared to ask.

MY BRAIN: I told people about the power of Crystal Light. I would testify about its flavors. I didn’t feel comfortable going door to door but I was always ready to share the good news that town water did not have to taste like town water.

ME: I’ll give you that one.

MY BRAIN: And I finally reached the end of my rope. I was so tired. And I took out a little packet and I just poured out my feelings. I asked for guidance, love, and faith. And do you know what? It just SAT there.

ME: …

MY BRAIN: It just sat there in its smug fruit punchness and said nothing. NOTHING. Where is the help? Where is the support? Where is the love?

ME: You know, I think you’re looking at this the wrong way.

MY BRAIN: I’m thinking of becoming a Splenda-atheist. What?

ME: It didn’t say anything… because it has faith in you.

MY BRAIN: … what?

ME: It believes in you so much that it’s not doing anything. It has faith that you can fix it by yourself.

MY BRAIN: Hey….

ME: See?

MY BRAIN: YEAH! CRYSTAL LIGHT BELIEVES IN ME!

ME: That’s great. So can we get back to work now?

MY BRAIN: First, I want to sing a hymn.

ME: A hymn?

MY BRAIN: Aspartame faith, how sweet and low calorie, that saved a wretch like meeeeeee…

MY BRAIN: I figure I’m multiclass, you know? Like a Chaotic Neutral Ranger/Geek/Pallet Jack Operator. It’ll take me a little longer to get those levels, but in time I’ll be able to — oh, I dunno, shoot two arrows at a time and enchant lifting forks.

ME: Did you start playing mutant D&D when I wasn’t looking?

MY BRAIN: I have decided that real world no longer allows actual accomplishments, so I’m focusing on
leveling up. Oh, and badges.

ME: Badges.

MY BRAIN: Yesterday I unlocked the Courteous Under Trying Circumstances badge, but as you may have noticed I also unlocked the Creative Swearing badge. And they kind of cancelled each other out.

ME: Who, exactly, is awarding you these badges?

MY BRAIN: Idsquare.

ME: Oh, of course.

MY BRAIN: Every five seconds the super-ego checks in with the id about what state I’m currently in, and depending on where I check in and how long I stay I get badges.

ME: So if you’re polite to a wrong phone number –

MY BRAIN: Badge.

ME: And you don’t take the last bottle of Inko’s when it’s on sale –

MY BRAIN: Badge.

ME: And you figure out how to restack a pallet so it doesn’t fall over –